A Cross And A Pocket Watch
by BellatrixLestrangey
Summary: Goretober Day 30: Posession. Icy is an exorcist, Azula is one of her hardest jobs.


Icy had taken on many jobs but she has never seen anyone so wholly consumed as the girl in front of her.

Her soul is so polluted that she is barely human anymore.

She doesn't have faint glimmers of herself that bleed through and aid in the fight as most of the possessed do. She is merely a host. A shell of a vessel. So far gone that her own family fears her.

She almost doesn't look human either, with wild eyes that sometimes went fully white and long straggly black hair. Icy affords it to pure coincidence that her hair just so happened to be long and black like the most typical thriller-esque ghost. Her skin isn't exactly pale, but this far into the possession it has taken on thick dark webby veins.

The girl throws her head back and screeches, it is a hellish sound; mostly demon, guttural and indescribable. The sort of noise that brought with it inexplicable terror. But there are traces of her in there. A very faint undertone, soft and feminine and irrevocably agonized.

Icy supposes that that is as close to a glimmer of humanity as she will get with this one. God knows how long the family has left her chained to her bed and consumed with the dark. The father vows that he had things under control and that the girl was simply mad, had been that way her whole life.

Icy remains unconvinced that he _didn't_ have anything to do with how the demon came to cling to her in the first place.

The mother had been the one to chain her, Icy doesn't doubt her sincerity in claiming that it has been done out of fear and fear alone. That the girl had tried to strangle and stab her brother as she vowed to claim his soul too. That, even in chains, the girl was a terror and had flung things across the room with her mind.

For it, Icy can't particularly blame the mother for keeping the child bound. She faults the woman for not contacting an exorcist sooner. The demon has had time to fester and fully consume. She can tell that it has taken a great liking to its host. The girl, prior to possession, had been healthy in body and slightly unhinged in mind-her brother made mention of cruel apathy prior to possession-she is truly everything a demon can hope for and it is not letting go of her easily.

Icy holds the cross before her and begins muttering words of banishment. One way or another, she will drive the demon out. It grows angrier as her speech continues. The guttural growling grows harsher and deeper still. Icy thinks that the girl's throat might tear within. Yet Icy remains undeterred and continues citing scripture and words of banishing.

As the demon grows more restless so do Icy's words grow louder. Louder until the demon shrikes again, this time the girl's own voice is more present. A good sign. Now, if Icy can get her to fight too...

She feels a gash form on her face and three more vertical lines slash onto her back. She almost stops her chant to utter a curse, to call the demon the bitch it is. She persists with the chanting and ignores the burning sensation that intensifies in her back.

The girl has it worse, her nose and ears bleed and her eyes go black. "She is mine." It vows. "Her soul is mine."

Icy rolls her eyes, the demon speaks as if she has not heard that said many times before. There is no point in offering it a response other than a more persistent chant and, if she is feeling petty, a healthy sprinkle of holy water.

This demon has vexed her to pettiness so she lets the droplets rain. She ignores the girl's anguished cry. This far into the exorcism and with such a vile and powerful demon, Icy can't afford sympathy.

At all costs this demon must be extinguished. She must disregard the host and her feelings entirely.

So she does.

The demon cuts lines and symbols into the girls skin and slashes them deeper the more desperate it gets. By now, the girl is coughing up and gurgling her own blood. Her mouth, chin, and nose are a mess of it. Icy is fairly certain that she is weeping blood. Blood and some disturbing inky substance.

In the back of her mind, Icy does feel horrible for the girl, the demon is abusing her body is such a profound way. Her back is arched in a way most impossible, Icy can't imagine that the host is very comfortable. Were it not for the chains, she'd probably be hovering with that long hair cascading down. She begins thrashing at the chains, wildly, animalistically. The sounds she makes are hellish; growls and sounds of a variety that Icy has never heard, even with ten years of experience on her record.

This demon is a fighter. It is latched on so deeply and swollen with evil and like some bloated leech. Icy begins to fear that she won't be able to expel the demon, muchless vanquish it. She loses her composure and snarls. "Alright fine, let's do this the hard way." She takes the cross and rams it onto the girl's forehead.

A death sentence.

She unleashes her loudest scream yet. It chill Icy so deeply to hear so much humanity in the cry and so little of the demon. But demons are deceivers, that small lapse in its hold is likely a clever trick.

But the girl locks eyes with her. And Icy sees their real color, at least in one of them. It is a vivid gold, an alluring gold. And there is fight in that eye. The demon seizes full control again and her eyes goes black once more.

As vicious as it can manage, it throws Icy back with much force and flings all manner of items in the room at her.

"Fuck." Icy hisses to herself. It is partially her own fault for letting her guard down even slightly. But the girl, she realizes, is causing havoc of her own. She positions her body in such a way that even the demon seems uncomfortable; her back is arched again and she holds herself high enough so that her arms dangle, fingertips barely brushing the mattress. One leg is crossed, impossibly over the other. And then her body freezes altogether.

It is enough time for Icy to find the cross and lay it back on her cry that cuts through the air is fully demon, but the laugh is entirely of the host's own. Icy resumes her chant. The girl's mouth leaks blood and ooze, it does so fast. A puddle begins to soak into the mattress.

Icy finishes her scripture citing and the girl's body drops to the mattress, folded awkwardly. There is a moment of pause. Of peace and total silence. And then she screeches again, somehow infinitely more pained than any of the times earlier.

Her mouth goes agape and a thick shadow rips its way out.

The girl goes limp and Icy thinks that she may be dead.

She has only ever killed one other person doing an exorcism, it is the exorcism that nearly had her leave the profession. The image of the child resurfaces. Icy shoves it back, her job isn't finished.

Now that she doesn't have to worry about completely mutilating the host, she fights with more fury; yelling all manners of holy words and banishing commands. She flings the holy water more generously and notes the steam that rises from the shadow. She holds the cross to the figure with more force.

It grows angrier and opens the wounds on her back further. It slashes her face and her stomach. It is trying to tear her to ribbons.

Icy feels her body weaken. Indeed, she has underestimated this one.

As it draws nearer she becomes well aware of its intentions and thinks of impaling herself on a spear of her own ice. She doesn't have time to do so before the vile thing thrusts a shadowy hand into her mouth.

In all of her years, she never imagined that she'd, during an exorcism, become one of the possessed.

But the demon stops short. It takes a moment for Icy to realize why, and perhaps it is because the girl is speaking so softly. Her voice is horse and raspy, but her words are clear. She is repeating that which had been said to her only minutes prior.

Icy smirks, she admires the girl's resilience and drive. Her brazenness.

Her only fault is that she is an unpracticed.

But her basic understanding and skill set is enough to leave Icy an opening to finish the job; she douses the cross in holy water and drives it into the demon's head with a few final words of expelling. The thing flickers like a static error on a TV screen and its form begins to melt and fade into nothing.

The girl slumps over.

Icy unchains her and holds her steady. She is unfocused and dazed. She looks unfathomably tired. Icy rubs her back soothingly. If the girl can last only a few more minutes, the demon's blight will begin to fade and her body will right and repair itself. She just needs to endure.

"You're first exorcism." Icy notes.

"Hopefully my last." The girl mumbles.

"Hopefully it will be your last _possession_. If you can deter a demon like that on your first try…" Icy pauses. "I hope that you will preform another exorcism."

The girl's head sinks into Icy's shoulder and the witch fears the worst. But then the girl asks, "is there such a thing as cleansing fire?" Weak is the girl is, she pushes back and holds herself up, just long enough to ignite a fire in her palm. It blazes from blue to white and then blue again. Icy is suddenly aware of just why the demon had been so fixated on her; the girl does indeed have the cleansing flame. One burst of that can singe away lesser demons in a single strike. The flame roars in her palm for a moment longer and then she topples back onto the bed. Icy shakes her gently. The girl doesn't move.

"Shit." Icy hisses. She can't afford to lose such a powerful girl. "You need to get up. You have something special and you need to be able to use it."

The girl shifts and murmurs something indistinguishable. Icy shakes her again and rouses her a little further. Icy is relieved to see that her eyes are looking less foggy. She is coming to, slowly and steadily.

**.oOo.**

Her family wouldn't take her back; she is a thing of fear to her mother and brother and to her father she had never been anything more than a ritual piece. And so Azula trails behind Icy, the sky is concreate, the first drops of rain dot her face and the wind whips her hair wildly. It is her first real job and Icy can sense the anxious anticipation that ebbs off of her.

Yet her expression is fierce, her eyes hold that sparkle of determination that Icy has grown used to seeing on her. She carries herself tall and with confidence, Icy is certain that her fear will be wholly masked by the time they reach the house of their client. The girl, in training, has displayed a stoicism and fearlessness that is crucial to the job. Such a lack of emotion that she will be hard for a demon to fight or latch onto. It is a style that Icy had not come across until Azula. Not even she has been able to fully factor out emotion, not like this girl. She is truly a marvelous apprentice.

"Would you like to approach first?" Icy asks.

The girl remains silent. She doesn't really speak much at all in general. She simply gives a firm nod and begins ascending the stairs of the Maddernson Manor. She tosses a look back at Icy and the wind tosses her hair out of her face.

On her forehead is an imprint of a cross and on her cheek is a small scar; the only signs that she has had a demon inside of her.

Icy puts a hand over her chest.

Beneath the fabric of her robe is a similar scar.

She reaches into her pocket, curls her finger around a silver pocket watch and thanks her predecessor.


End file.
